


Theros Beyond Death

by marathemara



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22220542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marathemara/pseuds/marathemara
Summary: Elspeth fights her way out of Theros' underworld, dealing with angry gods, a divinely inspired stalker, and a great deal of personal trauma in the process.This is a rewrite of Theros Beyond Death's set story based on the official Wizards of the Coast lore blurbs, following the end of Daily MtG story updates.Content warnings: traumatic nightmares about Phyrexia and murder, stalker!Calix, old stab wounds. Also possibly some terrible epic poetry.
Relationships: Elspeth Tirel/Daxos
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Sun's Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Theros Beyond Death Story Summary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/549847) by Wizards of the Coast. 



_Sing to me, o Muse, of slain false gods  
Ascended once on wings of fiery faith,  
Brought low by careless pride. The blessed spear  
Thrust home by Sun’s bless’d Knight restored the peace._

_And what great hero’s welcome earns the Knight?  
That same spear, stolen by its sun-crowned maker  
Splits the heart of her who did obey  
Too well. The grand reward of Heliod:  
Ilysia, the field of hero’s rest.  
At least, that’s what the gods prefer to think. _

* * *

**Sun’s Nemesis**

The door swung open silently, peeling a wedge of light from the hall beyond and laying it on the floor of the cell with a gentleness immediately contradicted by the shadow that fell across it. Vicious spikes loomed in the doorway, and she shrank back as far as she could into the corner, injection sites already aching in a perfect line down her spinal cord.

But darkness was no refuge, and never had been. The thing found her by smell, or the sound of her breath, or some other sense it had no need for her to understand. Grasped her arm in talons that barely left a mark, even as they squeezed the blood from her wrist. They both knew what came next.

_Not this time._ The thought may even have come from her, and it was right. She reached for the spikes with her free hand, wrenched one loose and turned it back on her captor. It screeched, vibrating her bones, but she gritted her teeth and drove it home--

\--and opened her eyes, and it was not some Phyrexian monstrosity before her, but Daxos, tangled in his bedroll, eyes glazing up at the spear driven into his chest.

_No,_ and this time she was aware of herself speaking. “No, I--I’m--” and then he was dead, and nothing she could say mattered anymore. The murmur of the revelry outside had become an approaching roar.

She gathered her clothes, her armor, the spear with which she’d--she hadn’t meant to, it had been a dream, she’d lashed out, if only--

Outside the tent, fires were spreading. Laughter rang from somewhere, echoed by screams. She ran until she could no longer tell how long she had run, but the laughter pursued her, drew alongside, and as its source turned to face her she recognized it. Dropped her armor and struck at the source of her misery--

\--and opened her eyes to an eternity of starlight and velvet, and Xenagos crumpled at her feet, eyes glazing up at the spear driven into his chest.

The sun rose behind her as she bent to free the spear, and she turned to greet it. “My lord,” she began, but got no further as the great hand of a sun-crowned god tightened around the haft of Khrusor and wrenched it from her grasp.

Her chest ached even before the blade pierced it. They both knew what came next.

_Not this time_. Maybe that voice really was hers. There was force behind it, a force that drove her to sieze Khrusor in both hands and pull it from the gash in the armor that she hadn’t realized she was wearing--

\--and open her eyes, and Heliod was not there. The stars, the dead god, all of it lost in a soft dull grayness lit by no visible source.

She knew she was awake this time, because none of this had ever happened before. She reached up to rub her eyes and touched metal. Ran her hand over her face until she found an edge, and pulled away a bronze mask set with blue gems. Then, with sight unfettered, she examined the spear that remained in her other hand.

It was a shadow-made-solid of the Khrusor from her dream, black and oily-surfaced where the other had been polished steel, with red gems instead of blue binding the blade to the haft.

She knew where she was now. She knew why she was there. And she may not have known why she now held the shadow of a spear, but Elspeth Tirel knew what she needed to do.

* * *

**God of Destiny**

Klothys paused a moment in her ascent to watch the movement of souls about the Underworld. For the most part, all was as it had been for millennia, as she herself had decreed at the binding of the Titans: the heroic and virtuous dwelt in peace in Ilysia, the vile and vicious endured their fated torment in Tizerus, and all others faded into the tepid gray of Phylias.

But one movement drew her attention. A soul not of this world, who had died a hero in bringing justice to the Usurper. Meant to be resting comfortably in Ilysia, she wandered instead in the gray realm, navigating the crumbling misera and ghosts of ruined temples like a Returned hunting for the path to the sunlit world.

This would not do. Klothys continued on her way to Nyx, vowing to return Elspeth Tirel to her much-deserved rest. Her wandering was not the first sign that the order of the world had begun to break down. Klothys would return Theros to the path of its destiny, regardless of the cost.

* * *

**Nightmare Muse**

The source of Elspeth’s unrest paused a moment to consider what they had seen in her dreams. An exquisite nightmare, that image of the spiked torturer framed in the cell doorway. They must discover what caused such delicious trauma; perhaps there were other victims.

A stolen image of Phyrexia clear in their mind, Ashiok planeswalked away, unseen by gods or mortals.


	2. Blessed By the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth continues on her journey through the Underworld and discovers the true power of the Shadowspear. Meanwhile, the gods are fighting again.

**Blessed by the Sun**

The rays of dawn kissed the brow of a man who had not known he was asleep, and he woke slowly as the half-forgotten weight of his body settled around him.

 _Daxos of Meletis_. A voice not quite in his ears. He struggled to sit up, unfamiliar limbs obeying sluggishly. Cold metal under his palm distracted him a moment, but the soft dawn light called to him and he strained to listen and understand.

 _The other gods are dangerous. They challenge my authority._ Daxos remembered a beautiful woman brandishing a spear—his chest ached suddenly—and a laughing satyr outlined by stars—that was not his memory, it belonged to the god who was speaking to him. Who had returned him to—had he been dead?

 _You are my champion, Daxos. I have returned you to life that you may do my bidding. Erase the influence of my rivals in Meletis, with the strength and glory of Heliod._ Dawn’s rays beckoned on the horizon.

Daxos’ lips surprised him by moving, for the first time in what felt like an age. “I will serve my god,” he whispered, and was surprised again by the rusty sound of his voice.

But there was little time to be surprised. He had received instructions from his god, and the will of Heliod must be done. As dawn faded into day, a rush of warmth filled his limbs with energy, and he stood, leaving behind the bronze mask on the ground that looked almost like a memory of his own face.

A herd of pegasus grazed a short walk sunward. Daxos approached them without fear of their short tempers and heavy hooves. They were sacred to Heliod, after all, and he was Heliod’s champion. They would carry him to the city.

* * *

**Beloved of the Sea**

The gods of Theros were, almost without exception, startled to find their influence waning in Meletis. Not all at once, and not evenly—Nylea’s worshippers tended to avoid the city when they could, leaving her at a disadvantage, while Purphoros’ priests resisted with divinely inspired vigor that maintained the strength of his magic—but the fact remained that Heliod had created a champion, and that champion had rallied Heliod’s priests and most faithful worshippers to police the city and punish the worship of other gods.

Outrage at this affront to the balance of power fueled hasty plans of action, as one god after another realized that they too could create champions for themselves, and raise them to the nearly-divine persuasive power that allowed Daxos to assemble his new followers. One morning a tidal wave reached the heights of Meletis, flooding Heliod’s temple; on that wave rode a boat crewed by clever Callaphe, whose quick thinking on her seafaring adventures had already made her famous in Meletis and now made her a leader among those who had not been bullied out of worshipping Thassa. By sunset that day, the city was besieged by beasts, and the temple by the legendary huntmaster Renata, who demanded tribute for Nylea from among Heliod’s sacred cattle.

Chaos spread throughout the city, but did not quite overwhelm it, thanks to a frantic effort by devotees of Ephara, whose domain was the city itself. The last straw would be left to Erebos, the one god unsurprised by Heliod’s plotting. He awaited the perfect moment, with one hand holding back an army of undead, and one eye on an unexpected ally making her way gradually through the gray realm.

* * *

**Woe Strider**

A monster loomed in the mists of Phylias, a once-human body towering above Elspeth on grotesquely stretched limbs. It breathed in the fog and exhaled fear and despair at its prey, and for the first time Elspeth found herself wondering whether the spear she had pulled from her nightmare would really protect her from the dangers of the Underworld.

Well, there was nothing to do but try. Elspeth held her breath against the stench of depression and decay, and as the monster approached, stabbed upward.

Its dying screech ripped apart the heavy silence of the fog, and even through the pain of the sound it was almost a relief to know her ears were working. Elspeth pulled the spear free and the monster slowly toppled over, crushing the calcified remains of lost souls that Elspeth had climbed over and around to get to where she was.

"So you are real," she said to the spear. Its inky surface rippled, and for a moment a steel blade shone in sunlight reflected from nowhere, its edge sharp and perfectly smooth. Then the light was gone, and the spear was a jagged shadow again.

 _Did it change because I said it was real?_ It made a certain kind of sense, Elspeth mused. If it was a copy of a god’s spear--the shadow darkened ominously--if it _was_ a god’s spear, she corrected herself, and it began to settle down again. If this spear was Heliod’s spear, then it might obey the same rules of belief that governed the gods. But one person’s belief would not be enough to give Khrusor its full power.

A soft noise reached her, the mist-stifled sound of chunks of misera colliding as something knocked one over. Elspeth looked up to see a small band of leonin emerge from the fog.

It was worth a try.

* * *

**Destiny’s Hand**

From the pinnacle of Nyx, the world spread out in a tapestry before Klothys. And it was beginning to tear. Small rips, missing threads creating tiny holes in the Underworld, the broken ends leading back to a growing tangle in Meletis. If repairs did not begin immediately, either the holes or the tangle could grow to overwhelm the world.

Klothys reached out to the weave of fate and began to shape it into souls that could wield the power of destiny, releasing the perfect ones into the world as her agents, each with its own domain of problems to solve: one to calm the beasts of the wilds, another to trip up Daxos and his improvised police force, still another to soothe those satyrs who still hungered for the fruits of the usurper’s Great Revel, and a team of five to stem the flow of mana through the holes in the weave, into the Underworld.

And one for the hero who refused to accept her rest. Elspeth Tirel, knight from outside the world, appeared to be drawing on that influx of mana and gathering belief around her in a complex knot. She would need a special Agent to return her to Ilysia, especially if she left the world again--one with the potential to follow her anywhere she went.

Klothys plucked a new soul from the fabric of Nyx, one that shone with a newborn star at its heart, and got to work.


	3. Shadowspear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth has friends who believe in her. Calix waits for the perfect moment to confront her. Daxos learns he can argue with Heliod.

**Shadowspear**

The harpy fell, her final screech echoing hollowly against the mist oozing back into the space her wings had cleared. The leonin warriors made short work of the remaining zombies in her entourage, while a small group of human souls who had almost become dinner helped each other to their feet.

Elspeth glanced around to make sure her companions were unharmed, then raised her spear above her head. Its blade was now dull metal, the haft still all-consuming black but with the beginning of a wood-like texture.

“Behold the true Khrusor!” she shouted, her voice swallowed by the mist. The leonin nearest her heard, and echoed her words, the rest of the band joining in as the shout reached them. “Behold the true Khrusor! Heliod wields a false blade!” The texture of the haft changed almost imperceptibly, but given how many victories it had taken to get it this far, it felt like progress.

* * *

**Relentless Pursuit**

My god commands I follow this woman.  
I feel her presence tearing through the weave  
And follow her trail through the Underworld.

Though imperfections new and old abound--  
The tangled city racked with godly strife--  
The echoes of Usurpers’ laughter rings  
From Underworld to Nyx--and yet it’s faint  
When faced with Elspeth’s most compelling wrong.

She cleaves a bright path through the failing weave,  
And as I wait among the misera  
It widens as she gains a following  
Of souls misled to-ward the sunlit world.

O Erebos, who guards the entrances  
That they become not exits, have you gone  
With your new favorite to Meletis  
And left the exits open to the masses!

Charged are we, Hands of Fate, with sealing doors  
Ne’er meant to open, and preventing  
Those within’s escape. The silver gleam  
Of Elspeth’s Khrusor passes by and fades,  
A scar left on the world, like staring at  
Heliod’s own brilliance. I could reach  
And touch her, hail her, ask why she is so.

But Klothys’ own command binds me to bide,  
‘Tis not yet the appointed time to act;  
So follow I along the scar she leaves,  
Among the mist and misera I wait.

* * *

**Hardened in the Forge**

As if Daxos had not brought enough strife to Meletis; as if Callaphe’s tricks and Renata’s beasts had not sown enough chaos, the city was now besieged by an army of the undead. Reports from the walls suggested that army was led by Tymaret, who recent legend said had created an entire city of Returned the last time the gods had fought. Reports from the survivors of one battle or another implied that Tymaret was the chosen of Erebos, with powers equal to those of any other divine champion. Daxos wished it weren’t true. But Heliod knew better: now that one of his rivals had created a champion, they all would.

Daxos had even encountered the fifth champion of a major god only this morning, as he led his cronies in searching a battlefield for Meletian dead. There were none, of course; each dead warrior of Meletis was taken away to strengthen Tymaret’s army. But he was not alone in examining the remaining corpses. In fact, he almost walked headfirst into the other demigod, whose face was covered by an Akroan helmet.

“Have you seen Cymede?” the helmet asked.

“Who are you?” Daxos had no idea what the question meant.

“I have to find Cymede,” the demigod repeated, before wandering off toward a band of satyrs loitering at the edge of the battlefield. One of Daxos’ warriors stepped forward threateningly. Daxos held out an arm to stop them.

“Our duty is within Meletis,” he reminded his followers. “If this new champion threatens the city, then we can deal with him.” He headed back toward the walls. Behind him, one or two of the warriors raised weapons in the direction of the satyrs, who responded with obscene gestures.

Cymede. She was...Remembering things was still difficult. Wasn’t she the queen of somewhere?

_ She was once the queen of Akros, _ the voice of Heliod prompted.  _ Purphoros has chosen what remains of her husband Anax as his champion. _

"He's looking for his wife." Something in that struck a chord in Daxos, but his god remained silent.

He was at the gate before he remembered. "What happened to Elspeth? She'll know how to fight off Tymaret."

The sunlight dimmed suddenly, or maybe that was the shadow of the wall.  _ Elspeth is a threat to our power. She must stay in the Underworld. _

"Elspeth's dead?"

_ Yes, and she must not be allowed to return to life. _

“She’s dead, and she’s trying to get out of the Underworld.” Suddenly neither Heliod's favor nor the blessings that kept Daxos alive meant more to him than finding Elspeth.

_ I... _ Heliod’s presence receded for a moment, then returned in a blaze of sunlight.  _ Perhaps you can help me prevent her escape. I will guide you to her. _


	4. Underworld Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth finally gets her revenge. Calix is extremely confused.

**Underworld Breach**

It had taken all of Elspeth’s band, and all the faith they possessed in each other and their weapons, to take down the World Eater. As Polukranos’ last head fell, the shade of a satyr leapt in with her torch, burning the neck stump so no more heads would grow in its place.

Elspeth’s spear seemed as alive as the hydra was dead A surge of belief out of somewhere had burned the last of the dream ichor from the haft and polished the blade to sunbeam-separating sharpness. Still, Elspeth raised Khrusor and proclaimed its reality, just in case.

“Behold the true Khrusor! What Heliod wields is a fake!” There were dozens of voices now, echoing her shout. Elspeth couldn’t remember meeting that many people in the Underworld, let alone bringing them along with her. And yet here they were, with the greatest beast of the Underworld dead behind them and a shimmering gateway ahead.

One by one Elspeth’s followers pressed forward, sinking into the fabric of the gateway as if into a pool of honey, and emerging into the sunlit realm. Elspeth marched with them, spear readied for whatever came next--

But what came next, as she pushed herself through the gateway and shielded her eyes against the light, was Daxos.

Elspeth almost dropped her spear. He was alive? How?

The moment she let her guard down, prepared to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness, was the moment the sunlight brightened, blinding her with the radiance of Heliod and his own Khrusor, and her grip tightened again on her own spear as she stared into the sun itself.

The world froze. The shades of her followers whispered to each other. She couldn’t make out any one word, but in her mind the meaning piled up into unassailable truth:

_ Isn’t that just a bad copy of her spear? _

Heliod heard it too, and his face eclipsed, first in a sneer, then the beginning of a scream, as his spear blade tarnished and the haft began to rot away. The whispers grew louder, pulling Elspeth out of her frozen terror as Heliod dropped his spear, leaving his chest unprotected.

Elspeth raised her Khrusor--the  _ real _ Khrusor now, with the faith of the dead behind it--and stabbed.

* * *

**Chosen in Death**

An eternity passed, and no time at all, before Erebos emerged through the shimmering gateway. He knelt, gathered the body of Heliod in his arms, and stood again, nodding solemnly to Elspeth as he returned to the Underworld.

Elspeth barely noticed. She was too busy figuring out what to say to Daxos.

He spoke first, while she was still thinking. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “Xenagos used you the same way Heliod used me.”

“But how do I--” Elspeth trailed off.

“There’s no way for the tool of a god to atone for being useful. At least not that Heliod knew about, or cared about. I suppose...I suppose we have to become something else first.”

Elspeth considered this. “You may be right. But I don’t think I can do that here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to go somewhere no one can manipulate me. Not gods, not Phyrexian torturers, not planeswalkers. That can’t happen here. I’m sorry,” she said as Daxos opened his mouth to protest. “I promise I’ll come back.”

_ Can you really keep that promise? _ Daxos thought. But he let her hold him, and kissed her like he would never get another chance.

* * *

**Klothys’s Design**

In the sunlit world beyond the veil  
Long-separated lovers reunite.  
The weave of fate around them tangles, but  
My god commands I do no more than watch  
Them frustrate Her design by existing.

The perfect time this could have been to strike,  
Returning Elspeth to her destin’d rest,  
I cannot waste--wait, what--Elspeth has gone!  
Her gleaming presence I no longer feel--  
O Klothys, help me do Destiny’s will,  
The will that I was made to carry out!

No purpose have I without my quarry  
I might as well have never been drawn from  
The stuff of Nyx, if I cannot fulfill--  
Oh! What is this that shines just out of reach?  
A sense of Elspeth, gone I know not where,  
But sensing her, I feel I can follow.

She who disrupts destiny cannot  
Prevent me from bringing her to her fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Greek epic poetry is typically written in dactylic hexameter, which closely mirrors the prosodic structure of spoken and sung Ancient Greek. The poems in this story are in iambic pentameter, which plays a similar role in English and is often used to translate Greek epic poetry. Hat tip to Emily Wilson's amazing recent translation of the Odyssey.


End file.
